


Burns Like Whisky

by Fixy



Series: If it pleases the Court... [2]
Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: F/M, Office Sex, QPQ universe babyyyy, Smut, Suckers, VILLANUGO, Villanelle can’t go even a few weeks without gettin’ some, bi hugo is my king, but finally… villanugo, hahaaaaa, if you don’t want to read about a p going in a v then now is the time to turn back, penis!!!! attached to a man!, rated m for p in v, scrambled pixels, secret whisky, shout out to you if you got that reference, strange connections, the summary is from the simpsons, this is just 6k words of banter, this should probably be an e, werkin late werkin hard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-12
Updated: 2020-11-12
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:14:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27530593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fixy/pseuds/Fixy
Summary: All work and no play makes Villanelle something something.OrA situation that absolutely no one expected in the history of ever.
Relationships: Hugo/Villanelle | Oksana Astankova
Series: If it pleases the Court... [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1998886
Comments: 45
Kudos: 154





	Burns Like Whisky

**Author's Note:**

  * For [imunbreakabledude](https://archiveofourown.org/users/imunbreakabledude/gifts).



> Happy Birthday, Dina! You’re a real good pal and I hope you like this fic. It was written with only you in mind. No pressure!

Villanelle’s office is quiet. 

It is past 9pm and she shouldn’t still be here, yet here she is, working on something that could easily wait until tomorrow. 

No music plays, leaving only the far off noise of the street as the soundtrack to her work along with the clack of her keyboard. It’s quiet. Peaceful. Lonely? No. Villanelle does not get lonely. 

Staring at her screen, she tries to make sense of the words, thousands of black pixels on white detailing important notes and blah blah blah. It does not flow and Villanelle finds herself confused, none of it going in the way it should. 

She puffs out her cheeks then blows the air out steadily as she leans back in her chair, turning to face out of the wall length windows at the road below. People walk, small as ants, some in groups and some alone, all heading somewhere. The pub, maybe, or home. To the theatre, to nightclubs, to the train station, to the cinema. God, Villanelle cannot remember the last time she went to see a movie. What is on at the moment? That Invisible Man film with Elizabeth Moss caught her eye, maybe she could go and see that? She has no one to bring with her, but it is not too strange to see a move by yourself-

A noise distracts her. 

“Late again, boss?”

Villanelle spins in her chair to find Hugo standing in her office doorway, leaning against the frame. 

Villanelle hums. 

“A lot to do.”

Hugo nods as he steps into the room. 

“Anything I can help with?”

“No, it’s fine,” Villanelle sighs, closing her eyes briefly. “I should take a break anyway.”

“You should go home, you mean.” Hugo says. “Doesn’t make sense to take a break at this time.”

But Villanelle shakes her head, opening her eyes again to find Hugo on the other side of her desk, one eyebrow raised judgmentally. 

“No, this needs doing.” She waves a hand at the screen, at the words that still seem to scramble when she glances at them. “It’s important.”

“Well, a break it is, then.” Hugo drops his bag onto the desk and heads to Villanelle’s large bookshelf. “Is it still in the same place?”

He finds the book without waiting for her response, slipping it out carefully. It’s thick, with a fabric bound hardcover in rich burgundy with debossed gold detailing. He opens it up as he walks back to the desk. 

“If daddy Konstantin knew you had this…” 

From the book pulls out a glass bottle, large but slightly flat, full of amber liquid. 

“He would probably be proud of me,” Villanelle cuts him off. “And don’t call him that.”

“Just ‘daddy’, then?”

Villanelle tries to frown at Hugo but it’s laced with amusement as her friend waggles his eyebrows. 

“Pervert.” Villanelle says fondly, taking the bottle of whisky. She stares at the liquor, sloshing slightly with her movements. “This is not a good idea. I really do have work to do.”

“And I don’t care.” Hugo says. “You need to relax a bit. De-stress, yada yada.”

“I’m not stressed.”

“So what’s with the hair?”

Frowning, Villanelle grabs a compact mirror from her desk drawer, then groans as she checks her reflection. Her blonde hair is down and sticking at strange angles, the roots ruffled awkwardly from where Villanelle’s fingers must have been running through them. 

“I’m not stressed,” Villanelle says again, “just… frustrated.”

“With work?”

“Yes, and everything else.”

Hugo uncaps the bottle and swigs from it, wincing slightly as it hits his throat. 

“God, that’s strong,” he says before clearing his throat. “What else are you frustrated about?”

“I haven’t had sex in weeks.”

“Oh,” Hugo nods in acceptance, “straight to the point, okay. Well, that’s unlike you. What’s been going on?”

Villanelle takes the bottle and takes two long swallows of whisky, relishing the burn. 

“Long work days,” Villanelle starts to list, “Irina stayed with me while Konstantin and Lucya went away for their anniversary, heavy period-”

“Okay, okay, got it.” Hugo says. He playfully pouts at Villanelle. “D’aw, poor blondie.”

“ _ Yes _ , poor me!” Villanelle insists. “I am not good at going for this long without sex.”

“Haven’t you masturbated?”

“Obviously,” Villanelle swings side to side on her chair. “But it is not the same.”

“You’re right,” Hugo takes the bottle back and drinks. “So what are you going to do?”

“I don’t know.” 

They fall into a comfortable silence, minutes ticking by as they pass the bottle between them. The whisky warms Villanelle, her chest humming with the heat of the alcohol as they sit side by side, Villanelle in her chair, Hugo on her desk, staring out at the London night. 

“It’s a pity you’re not into men,” Hugo breaks the quiet, “as there’s a perfectly fine one right here.”

Villanelle scoffs before taking another sip. 

“Hugo.”

“I know, I know,” he sighs dramatically, “you’re all about the vag. But dick really isn’t that bad.”

“You may swing both ways, but I do not.” Villanelle chuckles. 

“Uh huh.”

It’s quiet again for a few moments. 

“Are you not curious?”

“About what, Hugo?”

He flashes her a wink when she turns to look at him. 

“What I’m like in bed.”

“Funnily enough, no.”

“Oh, you’re not even the tiniest bit curious about what it would be like? I’m very good, y’know. I’ve had positive reviews across multiple platforms.”

“I’m sure you have.” Villanelle can’t help but smile at her best friend, his smug expression unwavering as he stares back out of the window. 

“But you’ll never know.” He shrugs casually. “You’ll never even know how good of a kisser I am. Your loss.”

Villanelle purses her lips in amusement and narrows her eyes. 

“Men are not good at kissing.”

Hugo looks at her in alarm. 

“Then you’ve kissed the wrong men, Vil.” He gestures emphatically at nothing. “Men can be amazing kissers! Strong jaw line, a bit of scruff… you know what, let me show you.”

Villanelle instantly balks. 

“Excuse me?”

Hugo shrugs one shoulder, nonplussed. 

“Let me show you what I mean. Let’s kiss.”

He looks at her plainly while Villanelle’s mind produces nothing but static, because… what? He is joking with her, clearly. Hugo is not stupid enough to suggest something like  _ that _ . 

Villanelle swings in her chair so that she’s facing Hugo, her back straightening as she studies him carefully, waiting for his typical ‘got you’ laugh. 

He doesn’t laugh. 

“You are kidding, right?”

With a simple shake of his head, Hugo shuffles up the desk a little to make room. 

“No, come on, let’s kiss. I’m going to show you that men can kiss nicely.”

Apparently he is not joking. Villanelle bursts into laughter, mouth wide as she takes her friend in, his knitted cream jumper and perfectly tailored tweed trousers more suited to a pretentious university professor than a lawyer’s secretary. But that’s why she loves him, really. His flair, his confidence. 

His confidence which is, right now, getting the better of him.

“Hugo,” she chuckles. “We are not going to kiss.”

“Why not?”

“Because we are not teenagers!”

“I’m serious!” Hugo leans towards her with an enthusiastic smile. “It’s nothing sexual, just an experiment between two pals. Come on, we trust each other, this is a safe space and so on.”

Villanelle shakes her head in disbelief as Hugo starts to move files to the side of her desk, making more room for her. He pats the emptied space encouragingly.

“I cannot believe you.”

Hugo rolls his eyes impatiently. 

“Woman, will you just-” he reaches out and tugs hard on her sleeve repeatedly, “come here and kiss your best friend.”

Another laugh escapes her as she allows herself to be pulled out of her chair and onto the desk, but it trails off into a groan when Hugo tries to position her to face him properly. 

How did she get to this point? Considering kissing her friend in her office just so he can attempt to prove a point? She vows to take a woman home this weekend. 

“We are going to regret this.” Villanelle sighs, rolling her eyes in defeat. 

“No way,” Hugo shakes his head adamantly, “unless you had a tuna melt for dinner or something.”

Villanelle jerks her head back, brow furrowed. 

“Ugh.”

“Exactly,” Hugo says, “so, no regrets here, I’ll get to prove that men can be decent kissers, you’ll get treated to a lovely snog, everyone’s a winner.”

Hugo tugs at her again and she slaps his hands away, straightening her blazer as he pouts a little. 

“I am not sure ‘winner’ is the right word.” Villanelle mumbles. 

“Yeah yeah, time for kissing.”

“Have you brushed your teeth recently?”

“Villanelle…” Hugo drawls, eyebrow quirked. She grumbles a bit more before righting her shoulders and taking a deep breath. 

“Fine,” she finally says, “but I am leading.”

Hugo dips his head with a smirk. 

“I expected nothing less, boss.”

And then-

Then they’re kissing. 

It’s fine. 

Villanelle’s bottom lip fits perfectly between Hugo’s as they start slow. It’s gentle. It’s… good. It’s good. 

He tilts his head. 

Okay, it’s more than good. Very good. His lips are softer than she assumed they’d be, his movements precise. 

It’s a very good kiss. Whatever. Villanelle’s brain is clouded with surprise, overall, but a growing curiosity starts to take hold through the sudden haze. 

They draw back slowly, enough to put a few inches between their mouths as they look at each other. 

“Huh.” Villanelle murmurs into the space. Hugo huffs a small laugh. 

“So?” He asks, voice lower than before. 

“Um,” Villanelle swallows then clears her throat, trying to find her usual tone, “good.”

Hugo frowns, looking put out. 

“Good?” He repeats. “All I get is a ‘good’? Those were some of my best mouth moves!”

“Do not call them mouth moves.” Villanelle half laughs, half cringes. 

“Come  _ on _ , it was more than good.”

“Okay,” Villanelle leans back a little further, tilting her head this way and that in mock thought, “it was…”

Her eyes dip back to his lips as she trails off. 

“Villanelle?” He asks, but she’s not listening. She’s thinking. She is thinking. 

She is... curious. 

Chalk it up to working too hard and the burn of whisky. 

“Vill-”

She captures his lips again, firmer this time, more sure of herself, of what she’s doing. 

Villanelle is just… trying this on. Like a new suit, or lipstick in a different shade than she’s used to. Trying something new. She has always been interested in expanding her life experiences. 

Hugo grunts a little in surprise but catches up quickly, kissing back with the same pressure. Villanelle shifts closer to him, her knee bumping his thigh and spurring him into lifting his hand and taking her waist. 

She’s never thought of his hands as big before, not until now with one pressing into her skin through the satin of her camisole.

“Is this still part of the experiment?” He husks into her mouth, soft words scratched rough. 

“Shut up or we are stopping.” She mumbles back before taking his parted lips as a chance to brush her tongue against his. 

Villanelle doesn’t know what’s come over her. This intense need is building between her hips, fueling her movements as her hands fist into the knitted wool of his sweater. She just… she  _ needs _ this. She’s stressed and she’s worked up and she needs this. 

Hugo, for his part, acts like he needs it too. His hands warm a path up to her rib cage, respectful but hungry in a way, pulling her to him as she tugs harder at his jumper. 

“Careful,” he murmurs between kisses, “this was expensive.”

“How much?” Villanelle whispers back, nipping his bottom lip with her teeth. 

“Ralph Lauren, three hundred quid.”

“God that’s hot.”

He chuckles against her. The hands at her sides change their pressure and turn her slightly as he moves, sliding from the desk to the floor until he’s standing in front of her. 

“Of course you’d find fashion arousing,” he mumbles, tapping impatiently at her knee until she widens her legs, letting him step between them. “Weirdo. But wool is bloody hard to keep perfect, so-”

“So take it off.” 

Villanelle’s hands find the hem of the thick material as he raises his eyebrows in surprise. She matches the look, and with a shrug of acceptance he pulls the sweater off and drapes it over the back of her chair, leaving him in a white t-shirt. 

She gives him a look. 

“You wore a t-shirt to work?” 

“Under a very expensive jumper,” he stresses, “that I did not remove. Besides, you’re one to talk.” He gestures at her camisole. “No bra?”

“I do not have to wear a bra.” She snaps throatily. “Women should not be forced into those things just because-  _ oh. _ ”

Hugo runs his thumb firmly over her hardened nipple through the satin, a smirk on his face as her rant is cut off. 

“Chill out,” he murmurs, smug, “and let me kiss you again.”

Villanelle does not like being told what to do. But she purses her lips. She ‘chills’. She lets him kiss her. 

The pace is still there, still laced with an urgency that has come from nowhere, and Hugo’s thumb tracing the bottom of her breast through satin is making her pulse quicken with every stroke. 

A minute passes, two, maybe three, and then she’s pulling away to take in his dark eyes and tousled hair. 

“So,” she murmurs, trying to steady her shaking voice, because she’s made up her mind, because she’s headstrong and confident and wants what she wants, “do you want to try and prove some men are good at more than just kissing?”

Hugo blinks, brows furrowed slightly. 

“You want to have sex?”

Villanelle shrugs one shoulder lightly. 

“Call it ‘curiosity’.” She tells him. “Maybe it will be fun.”

“Oh, it’ll be fun.” Hugo’s hands slide carefully away from her breasts and curve towards her lower back. “Are you sure though? What if you get attached?”

And Villanelle laughs at that, obviously. 

“Hey!” Hugo scolds indignantly. “Don’t be a twat. People can’t help but get emotionally invested in me! I’m a delight.” He finishes it with a pout and what Villanelle assumes is supposed to be an innocent look.

She flicks him hard in the forehead. 

“Ow-”

“No one is getting attached. We are friends, friends do this kind of thing sometimes. I just need something to help me relax, that’s all.”

“Oh my god,” Hugo sounds scandalised, “are you just using me for my body?”

Villanelle gives him an incredulous look. 

“ _ Yes _ ,” she says, slightly confused at his surprise, “obviously.”

He keeps up the shocked face for all of two seconds before it drops into a lazy smirk. 

“Cool.”

The way he leans to meet her lips once more is almost smooth, Villanelle can admit, smoother than she thought he could be.

But maybe she should have known Hugo would be good at this. He’s got the confidence and the ego, he’s got the style and that crooked smirk, and he does get attention when they go out. Villanelle has just never recognised it for what it could mean, before. 

And what it could mean is Hugo might be genuinely, honestly,  _ good _ at this. 

God she hopes he’s good at this. 

Those hands at her back slip down further until they cup her and start to pull her to the edge of the desk, until the seam of her tailored cigarette pants hits his-

She gasps against his lips. 

She is not used to… hardness. Well, she is, but usually she is  _ wearing _ a version of this hardness. But this is… this is not silicone. She’s not felt  _ this _ for years, not since university, but here it is, hard and, and present and, and tightening his trousers and-

Her thoughts are too fast to catch, no use trying to hold on to them, too keyed up to examine. 

It’s an experimental buck of her hips, the way she grinds on what’s  _ right there _ , but it has Hugo grunting once, eyes shutting as he dips his head. 

“God,” he mumbles. When he looks back up, he is changed. Darker, focussed, intent. “Are we actually doing this? Because if not-”

“Take off your pants.” Villanelle presses the words harshly into the side of his mouth, punctuating with a nip to his jawline. 

He groans, his hands drop, but not to his fly. They steer towards Villanelle instead and make quick work of the button and zip, and then his hand is in her pants and pressing her over her underwear and she gasps, and she bucks. 

“Shit,” Hugo mumbles, fingertips dipping against wet lace, dragging up and pressing hard where Villanelle aches, “you’re wet.”

“I am pent up.” Villanelle manages, voice breathless with lust and frustration. “And you are… okay, at this.”

“Such a compliment.” Hugo rolls his eyes but he’s only half committed, Villanelle can tell from the way he snags at his lower lip, the way his voice is rough at the edges. 

The air is thick between them but only for a moment because then Hugo is moving again, stronger strokes that give her the pressure her body wants and that draw out a moan from her that sounds too high to her own ears. She’s getting wetter, more slick as his fingers slide up lace to dip below until it’s skin on skin, quick circles around her clit, pressure  _ just _ inside that hints at what she needs but it’s not enough, nowhere near enough. 

But he senses it, somehow, he knows there’s no room for patience in the space between them tonight and he’s dropping to his knees before she can embarrass herself with begging. His hands are steady and confident as they pull down her pants and underwear, his lips stretching into that infuriating smirk that she needs between her thighs  _ now _ , ruining her  _ now _ . 

She doesn’t even think about it when her fingers fist in his unfairly perfect hair, when she drags him in until his lips meet silken skin where they immediately start to move. 

“Oh, fuck,” she sighs, head tipping back as her fingers remain tight in his hair, “ _ fuck _ .”

Hugo is driven. Villanelle has always known this about him, though it doesn’t often apply to his work. He is driven, direct, goes after what he wants. She gets it. He is like her. And the way he licks her, sucks her,  _ fucks  _ her, is tainted with that same drive. He dips in, strokes her walls, drags out and circles. He’s fast, but he’s precise. He’s panting, but he’s controlled. He’s… he’s good at this, he’s so,  _ so _ , good at this. 

Heat washes over her and leaves her skin tingling as she feels the tension start to swell. There’s no tail end of string to grab, it’s gotten away from her, it’s out of her hands and out of her sight and out of her control and, and she  _ wants _ . 

“Now, Hugo.” She mumbles, pulling his hair in a way that must hurt, his groan sending another heavy pulse straight to her clit, “I want- inside-  _ now _ .”

It builds, it builds and builds quicker than she can understand, heat and tension burning through her as he stands and unfastens his belt with practiced hands. It seems to happen too quickly for her eyes to follow, the speed with which he goes from dressed to not is almost unreal, a blink and he’s ready and he’s  _ there _ , hard and erect and… bigger than she’d expected.

“Oh.” She breathes as she stares. 

“I know, right.” His chuckle has a rasp to it, and Villanelle is almost annoyed about this because now she knows that he isn’t small, and he knows that she knows, and he will  _ never let her forget it _ . 

“Don’t look so smug.” She murmurs in distracted irritation, twisting her fingers into the white tee he still wears and jerking him closer. 

He just keeps smirking, of course. 

“Pretty good, huh,” he quirks an eyebrow cockily, but he’s affected by her harsh tug, the way he must be able to feel the heat roll off of her, because his breathing is quick and unsteady. 

“I wouldn’t know,” she replies with faux sweetness, “you haven’t done anything yet.”

His mouth drops open in indignation as he brings out a foil packet from nowhere. He tears it open with his teeth, and winks.

The wink snaps something inside her, some last string of patience pulled too taught and breaking to release new waves of desire and  _ frustration _ . 

“Hurry up.” She growls, and he hears it in her voice. 

The condom is rolled on. Her thighs are gripped. She feels a firm nudge against her entrance. 

She moans. 

And then,

_ Jesus _ . 

He’s sliding inside, slowly. Filling her. It’s so-

“Fuck,” he grunts when he’s fully seated inside, and they still, a moment of pause, a moment to just… to just… 

“Move.” Villanelle breathes. 

Moment over. 

Hugo moves. 

It is fast, all at once. There is no build up. It is zero to  _ fucking _ from the first thrust into tight, wet heat. 

Villanelle’s arms wrap heavily around Hugo’s broad shoulders, one hand digging her nails into the back of his neck while the other fists in his hair. He groans and bucks hard, the force pushing him deeper into Villanelle who moans sharply at the pressure. 

“Shit,” she pants, legs curling around his hips to drag him closer, “oh my god.”

He only grunts in response, his large hands gripping her thighs and pushing them further apart, enough for Villanelle to feel a delicious stretch in her muscles and enough for him to somehow slide even  _ deeper _ with every strong thrust. 

It's not romantic, thank god. It feels hot. It feels hot and heady and it burns like whisky, like the whisky from before, from minutes ago, hours, what even  _ is _ time when your friend is all but pounding into you and biting at your neck and-

“Lean back.” He grunts, and she does, immediately, leaning on her elbows as he pushes one thigh up, up until her leg rests on his shoulder and Jesus fuck she has to try this with a strap on because the  _ angle _ is just  _ everything _ .

“Fuck,” she whines at he hits that spot inside of her that sends white flashing behind her eyelids. Again and again he drives into her, a previously unknown strength in every one of his muscles as he fucks her against the hard wood of her desk, and all she can do is moan and lift her hips to meet him. 

She hasn’t been this wet in a long time, she can tell by the way he moves in and out of her easily, can tell by the noises that accompany every thrust. She’s warm and she’s close, her clit throbbing with her fast pulse. 

“Harder,” she growls, unable to keep from sounding needy, “I’m close.”

When he leans further forward with a groan and a curse, Villanelle lets her arms collapse. She doesn’t feel the pain of her head hitting the desk, only the intensity of Hugo’s quickened pace and the building pleasure burning in the crest of her hips. She tugs at her own nipple, deft fingers quick and firm against the hardened peaks and that makes Hugo moan too, the sight of her touching herself, and he’s suddenly moving even faster and hitting inside just right and-

“I’m-” Villanelle gasps, starts to clench, “I’m-”

And then his fingers find her clit between them. 

She tightens around him, the pressure increases, and with a desperate moan she comes. 

It washes over her like a relief, this great release of tension and stress, only light and heat filling its place and filling her and filling the air alongside her breathy moans. 

Hugo follows, then, her tightening muscles almost trapping him as he pulses inside her, gasping breaths leaving him as he sags forwards, his effortless hair now a mess of brown waves falling into his eyes. 

It’s quiet until he pulls out, and he’s careful about it, gentle, wincing at Villanelle’s bitten off whimper. He takes care of the condom, and Villanelle thinks he’s going to get dressed and leave, or something, but instead he hops up onto the desk and lies back, settling when they’re side by side, their arms touching lightly. 

“Wow.” Hugo says simply, and Villanelle nods. 

The air is strange. Thick, still, with tension and the smell of sex, and no awkwardness. Not a trace of it. But something is… off. She makes a living on picking up this sort of thing in court and she trusts her intuition, and something is not quite right. Skewed. A shimmer of something else. 

She frowns a little, then turns her head to stare at his side profile, contemplative. 

“Hugo.” She says quietly. 

He hums in reply, peaceful and still, but she presses on. 

“This is weird.” She says slowly, trying to understand her own words and their meaning. “It feels weird. It doesn’t make sense.”

He turns his head to face her now, still calm. 

“Why doesn’t it?” He asks casually. 

“Because… this is not me.” Villanelle explains, frowning further, stuck. “This is not who I am. And you wouldn’t do this either. Not with me.”

“Mm, true.” Hugo nods slightly against the wood of the desk. “But I wouldn’t worry too much It’s only a dream.”

Something halts in her mind, juddering and out of place. 

“What?”

“You’re dreaming, babe.” Hugo says, looking amused. “C’mon, don’t tell me you didn’t know that.”

And then the juddering stops and oh, yeah, of course. Her mind clears. Her thoughts quieten. 

“I’m dreaming?”

“Obviously?” Hugo pokes her playfully in the side. “You’re a lesbian, Villanelle, you’re not a fan of dick when it’s attached to a cis male. That’s what you told me when we first met and I hit on you. Remember?”

She doesn’t remember, but she does. It’s all there in her mind but it’s not, him speaking it bringing it into existence as fact regardless. 

“Oh.” She accepts. “Yes, I did.”

Hugo turns his head and stares back at the ceiling, his hand finding Villanelle’s between them and squeezing gently. 

“Yeah. So, don’t panic.”

“Okay.” Villanelle sighs. She holds his hand in the calm and the quiet, the ceiling now dotted with stars on a stretch of midnight blue, the plain white paint of her office long gone. She smiles tiredly. “This is kind of nice, isn’t it.”

“We can do this in real life,” Hugo squeezes her hand again as the sky turns orange, “a bit of stargazing. But with clothes on, alright?”

“Alright.” She agrees. 

“Good. Now, Wake up, Villanelle.”

Her body is heavy, limbs sluggish as she tries to move. 

“Okay,” she mumbles tiredly, “I will-”

“Wake up, Villanelle.” Hugo’s voice cuts her off, loud and sharp even as he stares calmly up.

She huffs as she attempts to sit but only manages in twitching one hand. 

“I am-”

“Villanelle!”

Villanelle jerks upright. 

She is in her office, sitting in her chair but slumped over her desk. Files are spread in front of her and there’s a piece of paper stuck to her cheek when she lifts her hand to rub at her face. She swipes it off with a tired huff. 

“What?” She mumbles, voice thick with sleep as she tries to understand what’s happening. 

“Don’t tell me you slept in the office again.”

It’s Hugo. 

_ That _ wakes her up. 

She bolts up in her seat, eyes wide and alert, which in turn has Hugo stepping back. 

“Uh, you okay?” He asks, cautiously. “Sorry if I scared you? I was saying your name but you wouldn’t budge. I had to yell.”

“No, it’s fine,” she says, clearing her throat and running her fingers hesitantly through her hair. She groans sulkily when they snag on knots. “I… did not mean to fall asleep here.”

“Well duh,” Hugo drawls, “if that was the plan I’m sure you’d have picked the sofa.”

He’s standing in front of her desk, smart jacket neatly folded over one arm as he stares down at her, eyebrows raised. 

She can’t even look him in the eye. 

“You alright?” He asks carefully. “Besides, you know… waking up your face stuck to the Davis contract.”

“Shit,” Villanelle snaps, retrieving the paper that had been attached to her cheek, then scanning for the others. “Those are- where...”

He leans forward and slides over a small stack just a few inches from her searching hand and carefully places it in front of her. 

“Oh,” she sighs in relief, “thanks.”

“Are you sure you’re okay?” He asks, dipping low to catch her avoidant gaze. “You’re acting weird.”

“Yeah,” she rubs at her face, trying to wake herself up properly, trying to shake this stupid awkwardness she’s created, “just… really strange dream.”

And Hugo, wonderful dumb Hugo, tries to make a joke. 

“Ah.” He smirks wide, playfully wiggling his eyebrows. “Had a sex dream about me? I don’t blame you, I’m a stud.”

It’s as he’s running his fingers through his fringe smugly that he catches the look that Villanelle is too slow to hide. 

She assumes she looks… panicked. A rare thing for her.

His mouth drops open. 

“Wait,” he starts, blinking quickly, “did you actually?

“No.”

It’s too clipped and defensive and she knows it. Hugo starts to grin. 

“Oh my god, you fucking did.” And now he’s practically beaming at her, complete and utter delight in his eyes. She groans unhappily and covers her face. 

“Shut up.”

“You dreamt we shagged!” Hugo says gleefully. “Oh that is  _ amazing _ .”

“Okay.” She snaps, yanking her hands away from her face and giving him her best court glare. “Stop now.”

It doesn’t work, obviously, because he is Hugo and he knows her different faces and not a single one can make him do anything when it’s just the two of them. 

“The all powerful lesbian Villanelle dreaming about sleeping with me, a man. This is incredible.”

Hugo is leaning against the desk with his hip, arms folded as he grins and shakes his head slowly at her. She collapses back against her chair. 

“You are fired.” She grumbles moodily, pouting as she looks away from him, but he just laughs and makes his way around the desk to her side. 

“No I’m not,” he says confidently, “you fancy me too much.”

“I don’t fancy you!” Villanelle whines, looking up at him again with tired eyes. 

“You do. It’s okay, I fancy you too.”

Villanelle tips her head back and groans. 

“Go away.” She drags the words out and Hugo scoffs, leaning over her until his face hovers near hers. She frowns when he smiles at her from mere inches away. 

“Chill out,” he says, “I’m kidding. Dreams don’t mean anything.” He leans back to let her sit properly again, rolling his eyes a little at her pout. “You know I once dreamt I married my dad? The dream started during the reception and I spent the whole time getting more and more freaked out, confused why no one else was freaking out.”

Villanelle twists her lips in discomfort.

“That is gross.”

“I know, total nightmare. Internet said it means I’m looking for someone with similar traits as him, or that I’m in need of some fatherly advice. But anyway,” he says casually, “do you want to have sex with me?”

Villanelle almost chokes on air before sputtering out a laugh. 

“Ugh, no!”

“Good! That’s good, see?” He clicks his fingers and points at her triumphantly before tilting his head a little. “I mean, I won’t say your enthusiasm doesn’t sting a little, but do you see what I’m saying? Dreams hardly ever mean what they seem to mean.”

Villanelle swivels slowly in her chair, a side to side motion as the thinks. 

“So, what did this one mean?”

“I dunno,” Hugo shrugs, flicking the pages of one of her files distractedly as he looks at her, “probably that you want our  _ connection to be stronger _ , or some shit.”

“Huh,” she says, because, okay. She can deal with this. It is not like she hasn’t had strange dreams in the past, giant baby chickens on trains and sexually arousing tornadoes included, so maybe a dream about Hugo fucking her into her desk is not that much of a  _ thing _ . She feels lighter, less worn out all of a sudden. “Okay.” She accepts, then hops up out of the chair. “Want to go get breakfast?”

“To strengthen our connection?” Hugo grins lazily. 

Villanelle steps closer and pats his cheek, a little too hard. 

“We already have a strong connection.” She says nicely as he rubs his jaw with an amused frown. 

“It would be stronger if you bought me eggs benedict.”

Villanelle rolls her eyes as she walks around him and to the door, hearing him trail after her. 

“So,” he starts as she’s locking her office door behind them, “where did we have sex?”

“Hugo.” She warns, flashing him an unimpressed look. 

“I’m not asking for much here!” He says. “Was it in a bed? Shower? Sofa? Gazebo?”

Her steps hesitate for a split second as she stares at him incredulously, brow furrowed. Hugo changes tack. 

“Was I good?”

She laughs at that, shrugging with playful disappointment while they wait for the elevator. 

“My blazer stayed on.”

“What!” Hugo almost shouts. “Damn! I didn’t even get to see your boobs? Weak game, dream Hugo.”

“You’ve already seen them in real life.” Villanelle says in confused amusement. The elevator pings and the doors slide open. 

“Yeah but that was an accident,” they step into the glass lift, “a hilarious accident.”

Villanelle sighs ruefully. 

“The pizza place blacklisted me.”

“Yeah, that was brilliant.”

“The situation or my tits?”

“Both.”

The world outside whizzes upwards as they descend, the last of Villanelle’s tiredness whipping away with it. 

She’s happy. She has her best friend, she has breakfast in the very near future, and she  _ potentially _ had an orgasm while she slept, she’s not sure. All in all, it is a very good morning. 

“Oh,” Hugo says as they step out of the elevator, “you have a possible new client by the way. I’ve scheduled her in to meet you a few days from now.”

“What is the case?”

“Divorce,” he supplies, “a pretty nasty one by the sounds of it. Husband seems like a real prick.”

Villanelle smiles a little. She likes the ones where she gets to crush unappreciative husbands under her Louboutin. 

“What is her name?” She asks. 

“Eve. Eve Polastri.”

_ Eve _ . Nice name. 

Villanelle smiles, and tries the name out on her tongue. 

“Eve Polastri.”

**Author's Note:**

> Before you think about leaving a put out comment, please remember that I specifically told you what this fic would contain in the tags, so I don’t want to hear it!
> 
> Thank you Spayne for soothing me. 
> 
> If this is a bit ooc I apologise, writing an AU Villanelle in another sort of AU (dreamland!) was tricky! Like an AU within an AU. Happy birthday Dina! I hope you liked it!


End file.
